The Landloper eBook

Colonel Dodd hurried into the anteroom and called
the bank on the telephone. “Almighty Herod!”
he yelped, when he was informed that the check had
been cashed. He banged the receiver upon its hook.
“Even my own nephew has joined the pack of those
damnation wolves!”

Then with the air of a man recovering from a blow
and wondering dizzily what had struck him, he left
the convention hall by a rear door and went to his
office.

Those whom he passed on his way out made no attempt
to stop him, did not urge him to remain. That
convention seemed to be doing very well without calling
upon Colonel Symonds Dodd for help or suggestions.

XXX

A GIRL’S IMPULSE

Herald unofficial, avant courier, Mr. Daniel
Breed squeezed himself through the pack of people
while they were still cheering the name of the Honorable
Archer Converse.

“Giving candy to youngsters and good news to
grown folks never made anybody specially unpopular,”
Mr. Breed assured himself with politician’s
sagacity.

Therefore, he jog-trotted down to the Converse law-offices
and shot himself into the presence of the estimable
gentleman who had remained aloof from the distracting
business of a convention.

“He’s done it,” proclaimed Mr. Breed,
making his sentences short and his message to the
point because he was out of breath.

“Who has done what?” demanded Mr. Converse,
with equal crispness.

“Farr. You’re nominated for governor.
Acclamation! He’s a wiz with his tongue.”
Mr. Breed pursed his little mouth and “sipped”
with gusto. “Some talker! Don’t
ever tell me that good talk doesn’t win when
the right man makes it at the right time.”

Mr. Converse rose and stood—­a rigid statue
of consternation and protest. “Do you mean
to come in here and tell me that I have been nominated
by that state convention? Without my sanction?
Without my consent?”

“Sure thing! Easy work! Played all
the tricks. Made believe he was green. Poked
rights and lefts to Harwood’s jaw. Had himself
paged as a murderer—­at least, I reckon
it was his own get-up. It cinched the thing,
anyway. He understands human nature.”

But Mr. Converse did not in the least understand this
talk. “Look here, Breed, you haven’t
gone crazy yourself, along with the rest, have you?”

“Nobody’s crazy. People have simply
woke up.”

“I’ll be eternally condemned if I—­”

“That’s right! You will be if you
don’t button up your coat and go over to the
hall along with that notification committee that’s
probably on the way, give the folks your best bow,
and say you’ll take the job. We’re
some little team when we get started.”

“You’re an infernal steer team, and you
have dragged me into a mess of trouble,” declared
Mr. Converse, with venom.

“Glad you’re in,” retorted the imperturbable
Breed. “A man needs more or less trouble
so as to round himself out; I’ve been having
some troubles of my own. Whatever job you give
me after you’re elected, don’t put me
back with them stuffed animals. Harwood made his
mistake right there!”